#how long is this. 1k words? appropriate.

[invinciblerodent]

3 & 11 for the rook/partner ask game! 🩵

Aaahh, my favorites from the list! ❤️❤️❤️ Thank youuu, I'm going to now proceed to rant for at least 45 minutes. ❤️ (This is what you get for taking off my muzzle lol, take this wordsalad please)

Question list here!

3. How long does it take for them to officially get together? Did any of the other Lighthouse members have any suspicions beforehand?

I think they took quite a while! Though I like to alter the canon slightly on this too, and imagine that they start off as friends with benefits, and it deepens almost imperceptibly from there- like they're kind of the last people to actually take the feelings off the high shelf, and acknowledge that yeah, this is something real.

I mean, they start flirting like one minute into knowing each other (plus the little heart icon is there from right then), and they're both people who are more comfortable with more casual, less emotionally involved relationships after all- going by his late lines on how it's discouraged for Wardens to get attached, and her past relationships all going up in smoke (in frankly impressive ways), it just... seems to be better to them both that way. Them putting aside their growing awareness of the reality of their feelings in favor of not rocking the boat, or not having to deal with the resulting shift in worldview, feels pretty appropriate, lol.

That then gives their start a bit of a rocky context, because I like to think that the first time they sleep together is after the scene where they drink together with Lucanis (after having expressed interest, and flirted for what I feel is at least like, 2-3 months' time, maybe? but still with them being very uncertain and bogged down in their issues)- which is somewhat uniquely terrible, because then both can think that it was an alcohol-inspired, spur of the moment thing, that it didn't mean anything, and they can continue to go on just as they did before, pretending to be cool as cucumbers. They've both done this before, it's nothing new or different, business as usual, moving on, ykwim?

Never mind that they both know you're probably not supposed to get a little bit knocked dumb by how the eyes of your booty call/boss/best friend in a while seem to shine a warm silver in the moonlight, or get flutters in your heart watching your favorite sparring partner/casual fuckbuddy/closest thing to a second in command play with his griffon son, ykwim? Like, feeling like your spine is being unzipped when she charges at a darkspawn and the icy fear at seeing her in your mind's eye Blighted and broken is totally normal, friendly concern. As is feeling like you can't breathe, and like there's hot ants crawling all over your skin, when he knocks you on your ass while training because you were too busy looking at the way that little vein throbs in his neck with exertion to notice his right hook. (And now he's pinning you down. And one of his hands is big enough to encircle both your wrists. And Andraste's tits, he smells good all sweaty like that. Yknow, such very friendly thoughts.)

Yeah, that's just a totally average, well-documented side effect of getting dicked down semi-regularly, not at all something to dissect later in your mind. For sure. Who needs to think about your feelings when you can just fuck about your feelings.

... as for the others, I remember that at one point, even before release, I wrote this line that I sort of then attributed to Neve, that goes something like "If you were any more obvious, you would be humping his leg.", and I like to think that that holds up somewhat, lol.

I think with the gossip train that goes on in the Lighthouse, Neve (who is also Ver's designated best friend, an uncomfortably perceptive person, and the one to go out with the two of them most) realizes very quickly that there's something more than their usual ribbing going on. They're being a bit more careful, more awkward.

So she like realizes a day in. Then she tells Lace. Who tells Bellara. Who tells Emmrich, and very soon the "secret" is only a "secret" as far as the two it's about are concerned.

11. Who says "I love you" first? What is the other's reaction? Who thinks it first?

Oh, I kept that the way it is in canon! I love that he says it first, so matter-of-factly in the last second before heading into what's (hopefully) the biggest battle of their lives- and I really like how she's dumbfounded by it only for a moment, before saying it back with that uncertain relief in her voice. I think that's really sweet, and very natural- almost as if he's not even thinking about how it's the first time he's saying it, but rather about how this is the most natural thing to say right now.

And it is. It really is, because all else has already been said, and he's nothing if not a man who takes pride in calling a spade a spade. He doesn't say words recreationally, he's not one to give things names that don't fit- so calling what he is feeling then, love... it's just the most correct thing to call it.

As for who thinks it first, I'm a bit unsure on that, but I'm leaning towards maybe her? And it'd be something very normal, very oddly domestic that sparks it.

I have this thought I think is cute, that as things progress after the commitment scene, they spend more and more evenings together. I like to imagine that one night, fairly late in the game, she starts to get sleepy earlier than him (maybe it was one of the days that was very long for her, but he stayed behind for some reason?), and she climbs into his bed, while he stays up to sit by the fire a bit longer.

It's then, watching just that thin sliver of his profile illuminated and outlined by the firelight, listening to the sound of his knife scraping on a piece of scrapwood, enveloped in his and Assan's warm scent (because there is no way Assan doesn't climb up to curl up at her feet), that she feels completely secure, protected, relaxed even after everything, and thinks, "I love this. I love you", right before drifting to sleep.

.... And then she thinks it again when she opens her eyes in the morning to find his face on the pillow next to hers, and it feels very awkward, and she slips out, letting him sleep and flushing ear to ear, to put a pin in that for now, and grab herself some breakfast. (Followed no doubt very closely by Neve's Maker-damned sharp eye that immediately dissects her discomfort with a surgeon-like accuracy.)(He has an almost equally awkward time waking up alone, to a cold bed, like 20 minutes later. It's a whole thing.)

[julymusings]

you're good to me, baby

with the roar of the fire my heart rose to its feet, like the ashes of ash i saw rise in the heat. settle soft and as pure as snow, i fell in love with the fire long ago.

or; because the red hood bleeding onto your living room carpet is exactly what you need right now [3.6k]

Jason Todd x fem!reader; based on this lovely ask; ngl this turned into a personal vent jason doesn't show up until 1k words in LMAO; warning there’s blood (duh) and reader is suggested to have heavy anxiety; pre-established relationship where reader doesn’t know his identity + muzzle red hood bc HOT

Compartmentalize. Create baskets in your mind. Analyze the situation, and drop the corresponding emotion in the appropriate basket.

One: You had a fight with your best friend. She called you selfish because you weren’t enthusiastic about her new relationship. She just can’t seem to understand that no matter how happy you want to be for her, it’s painful to see everyone find safety in another person when you can’t. Every attempt at romance is squashed by something or the other that you keep doing wrong. I thought you were hot, your latest dating attempt had said when you ran into him and asked why he never texted back. But you’re kind of a lot. Not something I have the space for right now, you know?

Two: There’s an important presentation today, one that could determine the fate of your position in the company. Your coworker, the one who’s convinced you stole his promotion (he just flirted with the higher-ups while you actually completed the requirements), refuses to let you forget how much is at stake. All it takes is one misstep, one stutter, one hesitation, and he will take it as an excuse to demand your demotion— or worse, termination. You’ve been preparing for this presentation for three weeks. If after all that effort it’s still not good enough, maybe you should be fired.

The emotions here? Frustration. Anger. Exhaustion. Jealousy. Just to name a few. But there’s no time to dwell on anxieties right now, so you shove those thoughts aside. Drop them in their compartments and move on because, after all, if you can strip them down to their bones and find where they stem, you can yank those anxieties from the ground before they have the chance to root. And then there’s no need for unnecessary heartache, right?

(Who cares if the baskets are overflowing, crumpled fragments spilling over the sides like garbage in a landfill? Who cares if the room of your mind is so packed that you’re pressed against the wall and breathing becomes painful.)

The digital clock beside your bed reads 6:12. The numbers blink in and out of the window, their red dots and dashes taunting your heavy eyelids. You still have forty-eight minutes of peace before it will scare you awake. Its beeping will ring so loud and angry that the adrenaline from the startle will power you through your morning routine, and your beating heart won’t dare still to entertain wishes of just five more minutes. 6:13 now. You have forty-seven more minutes of peace, minutes which should be spent sleeping, giving your poor brain a break from itself. But you can’t. Every time you close your eyes and begin to sink below the level of consciousness, your heart pumps a house-special cocktail of cortisol that laces through your bloodstream and convinces you that if you fall asleep you will miss your presentation and you will get fired. The off-grid escape plan formulating in your head switches from hypothetical to tentative when your neighbors, apparently awoken to lust as well as tired by it, start going at it again. You want nothing more than to bang on their door and scream obscenities until they hate each other enough to never touch again, but you resign yourself to consciousness, giving up on the dream of what would now be forty-four more minutes of sleep. 

It’s Friday morning; only one more day to get through before the sweet release of the weekend finds you. (The whole weekend will be spent contemplating the start of a project, feeling like two days is not nearly long enough to complete anything, and dreading Monday until it finds you with nothing done and the same, endless cycle awaiting.)

After completing your morning routine 44 minutes early, you use the spare time to go through your presentation once more, just for good luck, wrapping up the third run-through just in time to hear your alarm to leave for work.

The presentation goes decent, at least well enough to quell any doubts about your ability to do your job. Your coworker ate his words for sure, and you might have enjoyed the look on his face had you not mentally checked out as soon as you finished your closing remarks. Rush hour traffic has the ice cream tub you bought at the convenience store dripping condensation all over the passenger’s seat and your hips hurt from being in the same sitting position for most of the day, but you remind yourself that peace is only a few miles out. Stopped at yet another red light, your grip tightens on the steering wheel. Breathe in. Breathe out. The line of cars starts to move forward.

When you get home, your frustration is close to boiling over. You kick off your shoes right at the door, your keys and bag following close behind.

Far be it from you to break down on the floor in the middle of the room, the plan begins to formulate. There’s a box of tissues on your desk– that can go on the nightstand, along with two of the chilled water bottles you keep in the fridge for after you work out. And you’ll need something for the tissues, right? The small wastebasket from the bathroom should be fine. You drag it over to the side of your bed, sitting in your usual spot to make sure you placed it at a reachable distance. You won’t want to get out of bed to wash your face after this, so a washcloth should go next to the tissues. And an extra one, just to be safe.

You keep a set of comfortable clothes ready, the nicest, softest pajamas you own that you only wear after an everything shower. This shower, however, is a quick one, not much more than a few minutes under scalding water to comfort you, if nothing else. The light pink pajamas are a high-quality cotton and you feel like you’re in the clouds when you slip into them. Remaining is the ice cream, which you set out on the counter right before your shower so it would thaw just enough to be soft but not melted, With everything in your room ready, you go to retrieve the ice cream but stop with a startle when you round the corner.

“Jesus,” you mumble.

He’s just sitting there, doing nothing except bleeding out on your cream-colored carpet. He’s spread out on the couch like he owns the place, head leaned back against the wall as he lets his injured arm hang over the armrest and drip blood and dirt onto your cream-colored rug. The liquid seeps into the expensive wool, staining it with reddish-brown hues and the scent of iron, and he doesn’t even notice.

“Hey.” The Red Hood lifts his head when he sees you.

On any other day, you’d be quick to action, hauling him up off the couch and sprinting for the first aid kit under the bathroom sink. Today, your arms are too heavy and your gaze remains rooted on the widening splotch of red against white. Your throat feels dry. “You’re getting blood on the carpet.”

He peers over the armrest. “Oh, shit,” he curses, lifting his arm to hover it over his lap. He sounds robotic through his muzzle mask. His hood, pulled down to reveal his thick black hair curling at the ends from humidity and sweat, rests on his back.

I don’t have time for this, is what you want to say. You want to scream it in his face and kick him out for having the audacity to think he can come and go as he pleases, that you’re nothing more than a drive-through emergency room who will drop everything if he gets so much as a paper cut. But you can’t say any of this, and you do want him to come to you whenever he needs help. God knows he won’t go anywhere else.

Holding back your heavy sigh, you wordlessly walk to the bathroom. He takes that as an invitation to follow. 

It’s clinical. Rehearsed. Neither of you speak. It’s a partnered dance long since committed to muscle memory, steps you can take in your sleep. He knows to seat himself on the step stool you got just for him, for nights like these. He knows where to find the first aid kit and which supplies to hand you first. You know the exact steps to follow. Check the palms for abrasions. Antiseptic to the lacerations. Concussion exam. 

Maybe he can sense the air of tension surrounding you, because he doesn’t say as much as he usually does (though, granted, it’s still not much). It’s a reflection of your dynamic several months earlier when this arrangement began, back before you’d managed to chip away at the surface of his rough exterior. You notice the way his fingers curl against his thighs when you, somewhat carelessly, wipe the dirt from his skin with more pressure than necessary and the way his eyebrows tilt inward when you work slower than usual. You notice, but you ignore it.

We both know you have at least a dozen people who could do this for you. The words echo in your mind. Don’t act like I owe you this. If anything, you owe me a new carpet. These are things you wish you could say, but never will. Being realistic, you’ll probably never be able to say things like this. You’ll be subjected to all the shitty coworkers and unsympathetic friends and exploitative vigilantes of the world for the rest of your life.

This isn’t his fault, you remind yourself, but still, your lips turn down and your jaw feels tight with the effort to keep your face still, to not burst into tears right on the spot. In the second it takes for you to calm yourself, your hands pause. He notices. He says nothing. 

It’s not until you’re finished with cleaning the blood from his arm wound and giving him a wad of gauze to hold against it that he tests the waters and asks, “Is it too bad?” 

He sounds automated, but over the last few months, you’ve learned a thing or two about reading even these robotic actions. There's a certain quietness to the beginning of his sentence like he’s debating if he should say it or not. 

“It’s fine,” you say, shortly. 

“Sorry about your rug,” he says. He tugs at the strap of his muzzle with one finger, rubbing at the skin underneath the leather. “I can get the stain out.”

You retrieve the needle and thread from the kit and don’t respond. You don’t even look at him.

After a moment’s hesitation, he continues. “It’s easy. You just need salt and—”

“Okay.”

He goes quiet.

You don’t mean to be so tetchy, but you don’t have the energy for anything more. Every little thing has you feeling on the edge of shattering. It’s too much. It’s all too much.

It’s when you’re kneeled at his side, staring into the gaping wound on his bicep and trying to thread the needle, fingers trembling from the chill of the tiled floor with nothing but a layer of thin cotton to keep you warm, that it happens. He shifts on the stool, a mere twitch in an attempt to get comfortable, but it brushes his bloody arm against yours. Flecks of fresh red on the light pink fabric. First your carpet, now your pajamas. Your favorite, special, extra soft matching cotton pajama set, a rare splurge after your promotion that stood out among old t-shirts and sweat shorts. Ruined. Again, he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Did I say something?” Hood asks. He waits for your response, but when none comes, he adds, “I’m sorry if I did.” He speaks so quietly you may not have been able to separate his words from the whirring filter of his mask, if not for the chilling silence of the bathroom floor. The insulating brick walls of your old apartment building are something you’re usually grateful for, but tonight you find yourself wishing for the city’s commotion to seep through the walls. Something, anything to buffer his proximity to you.

You hear his inhale as he prepares to say something else.

“Can you just let me work?” You snap before he has the chance to speak again. It’s loud, louder than you’d ever dream of speaking to him, and he flinches. Your eyes shut in apology, but only for a moment before you get back to it. He looks away. His feet point towards the door.

He wants to leave, you can tell, and you don’t blame him. You just messed everything up. But you started this, so now you have to finish it.

You sit in silence for the several minutes it takes for you to clean his wound and stop the bleeding.

He’s not looking at you, gaze transfixed ahead of him on a chip in the paint. At least, you assume. It’s difficult to guess what’s going on behind the milky white covering over his eyes. His subtle body language can be read if you pay close enough attention, you’ve learned, but that’s not something you care to do right now.

(Maybe you noticed in the back of your mind that he’s not exhibiting any body language since you snapped at him, but the compartment in your head for guilt is already overflowing, so maybe you didn’t notice it, you tell yourself.)

You stare at your sleeve, at the patches of blood blooming like ink blots. The red and pink hues blend together behind your blurring vision. You sniffle.

“Are you—” Hood starts. Because now he’s looking at you.

“Excuse me,” you say, pushing yourself off the ground and stumbling out of the room without so much as a glance back at him. You stagger into your room, needle and thread still in hand, and push the door closed. The lights are off, and the darkness is calming, quieting your buzzing thoughts. You close your eyes and lean against the door. Breathe in. Breathe out. You continue this exercise, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth to soothe your sympathetic nervous system, the same way a therapist instructed that one time you went. You wipe away the moisture that has collected in your eyes, roll out your stiff neck, dry your sweaty palms over your thighs. You toss the needle and thread aside, because they are definitely not sterile anymore, and take a few more breaths before opening the door and going back to the bathroom.

You avoid his face, following the lines of grimy grout between the tiles before resuming to your spot at his side. His inspecting eyes burn on the side of your face. You wipe down the forceps with a sterilizing wipe and rip open the plastic packaging for a new needle, holding it up to the wound, but your hand refuses to steady.

Another deep breath. Then another.

Hood sighs. It’s almost chastising. “I think I should go.”

“What?” You’re just surprised enough to be torn away from your thoughts and look him in the eye (mask) for the first time all night.

“You can’t do this,” he says, gruffly. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll let you figure it out.”

You scoff. “Yes, I can. I’m fine.”

Before he can argue, you grab him by the wrist to hold him in place just as he starts moving to get up. He winces, but you keep your grip tight on him. You can feel his scrutiny through the cold, expressionless barrier of his disguise, practically track his pupils as they search your face.

You both pretend he couldn’t break from your hold in an instant if he wanted to.

“You’re shaking,” Hood says. His voice is much softer now.

You follow the turn of his head to your hand where it hovers the needle right over his skin. You are shaking. Trembling, in fact.

“No, I’m not.” It comes out as an empty whisper.

You focus all your strength on steadying yourself, but the harder you try to stabilize, the harder you tremor. Your other hand releases his wrist to clamp over your dominant hand and force it to stay in place. It guides the needle closer to the skin, but now your vision is blurring. You blink rapidly, but it’s not enough. The tears start falling. You look away from him, but a warm hand settles over yours. You don’t dare look at him, unable to bear showing him your shameful face, wet and blushing and screwed up in misery. You turn your face into your sleeve. Clamp your eyes shut tight, thinking maybe if you keep them closed, this darkness will swallow you up and he won’t be here anymore.

But the warmth of his skin on yours is the first feeling of softness, of relief you’ve felt in months, and then it’s gone. Your shoulders are shaking, quaking with the effort to keep your sobs quiet.

One finger ever so gently hooks around your chin, pulling it back up to face him. You keep your eyes closed, not wanting to see him see you like this, but the tears are still streaming. He brushes them away. Whether that makes it better or worse, you can’t be sure, because you cry even harder, snatching your face away from his grasp to muffle your sobs into the back of your hand. You don’t realize he’s pushed himself off his stool to sit cross-legged on the floor until you feel his hand circling your arm and pulling you closer. The tools in your hand clatter on the floor as your palms come up to press against his chest, fighting against him with half-hearted protests murmured through your cries. But even with only one good arm he’s too strong for you, and you’re pulled into him.

He’s so gentle with you, rubbing your back and resting his chin atop your head while you cry and cry and cry into his shirt. Several minutes pass like this, with your face buried in his chest and his good arm holding you tightly against him while the other dangles lamely at his side, throbbing with an intensity he’s trying to ignore.

When your sobs die down, and you’re sure you’re all cried out, you linger against him. He smells like smoke and gasoline, and his shirt is soft and warm from his body heat seeping through. His hand continues to stroke up and down the length of your back, even after you’ve quieted. The edge of his mask digs into your scalp where his chin sits, but it feels worth it. Your hands, still pressed to his chest, slide higher, completely of their own volition, out of a newfound desire to wrap your arms around his neck. You don’t hear it, but you can feel his sharp draw of breath, his chest rising quickly under your touch. Your hands lose their nerve at his clavicle as you hold your breath for fear of the smallest movement drawing attention to your forwardness. You wait for him to rebuff you, to lean away from your touch, or grab your wrists and pry them off. He doesn’t.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. His chest finally falls.

Eyes opening, your thumb swipes over the edge of the red bat symbol just below his collarbone.

His movements pause, lightly gripping the fabric of your shirt for just a moment, before releasing it. “It’s alright,” he tells you.

You pull back from his chest to look at him, the way his cold and unfeeling expression stares back at you. You wonder from time to time what’s under the mask, but tonight the desire is overwhelming; you ache with the want to know what he looks like. The color of his eyes. What his mouth looks like when he winces over a deep cut or chuckles at one of your anecdotes. You wonder if his lips are soft or chapped. If he’d like it if you dragged your thumb across the bottom one.

The metallic odor spreading through the room brings you back to the present, and you hope the flush from your tears hides your cheeks’ growing heat when you realize where your mind had wandered. 

“Oh, fuck, your arm.” You speak in a watery voice, wiping at your face as the urgency returns to your senses. Though you try to move away, his firm hand on your back pulls you back in.

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” He says, resuming his caresses up and down your back. “I can take care of it.”

“Then why do you even need me?” You sniffle with a small smile.

He stays silent. But when you search his face, waiting for an answer, his hand moves to your side, palm sliding a fraction of an inch closer to your waist and fingers tensing, you can almost see through the mechanical muzzle to the way his lips shape the words. At least, he wishes you could.

You know why.

this was lots of fun to write and thank u for your patience ik i said i was gonna "knock this out in a day" 2 weeks ago😬😬 also we're gonna pretend they aren't just letting his open wound marinate for half an hour when it should be getting stitched up bc it's fiction ok? everyone say thank you mostly-imagines for proofreading this😚

but anyway happy new year!! it's been barely 2 months but starting this account made my year so much better🫶🫶🫶and ty for 500 followers that's crazy🫣🫢

listen to the inspo song!!!

[apocalypse-shuffle]

BLACK NOIR | EARVING (the boys)

—

“Just a Trim” (Black Noir x Gn!Reader)

| In a spur of the moment move you offer to do Earving’s hair in order to spend more time with him. To your shock, he takes you up on the offer.

| SFW, Noir being briefly insecure about his disfigurement, hair care, good vibes, stand-alone fic.

| 1k+ words

Tomorrow was going to be a marked day. One of those dates that you held close to your heart and pulled out anytime you were even peripherally pressed about the event.

In passing Black Noir had mentioned his regularly scheduled grooming appointment. The hair that did still grow on his head would need a trim so he’d be offsite at a smaller Vought facility for a few hours.

You’d taken in his words, a mix between excitement that he felt it necessary to share his whereabouts at all warring with upset at how long he’d be gone (basically your whole workday) on the final day of the week you’d be able to see him until you were allowed back onto the upper floors in another four days.

It’s that heavy swirl of emotions that spurred your mouth into action and had, “I could trim it if you want,” falling past your lips unbidden.

He’d turned on deft feet at your words to stare you down from behind the mask, back ramrod straight and body still.

Finally, after maybe a minute of you waiting him out (the type of contemplative minute between you two that you cherished), Noir gave a slow nod of his head and pointed to two numbers on one of the recruitment posters on the wall next to you before marching off.

He’d indicated the numbers ‘two’ and ‘thirty’, and you’d never admit to anyone but him that you’d had a little bit of a bounce to your step after you’d registered what that meant.

So what if the thought of him allowing you into his hair had sent butterflies dashing through your bloodstream? It didn’t matter that he’d typically had what were no doubt unfeeling trims from Vought hired barbers either, because he had to know that you weren’t going to treat his hair with such clinical detachment.

You were going to be sharing some level of intimacy - he was going to let you be that intimate with him, period! - and you planned on treating this undoubtedly maskless milestone in your relationship with the appropriate amount of significance.

This was huge!

Holy hell you needed to gather your supplies.

─────

The top of his head is not devoid of similar scars as the ones that mar his face. A patch of gnarled scar tissue takes up a third of his scalp, scars running in their steep wiggling pattern and stopping any hair from growing.

The marks from the explosion still being so prominent even after all these years makes your heart squeeze painfully in your chest.

His interesting hair growth pattern is the first thing that drew you gaze when you’d entered. After your greeting he’d stared at you for a while, the note paper in his hand boldly proclaiming: ‘tell me if you want me to put it back on’, before he tossed the paper aside and ripped off his mask. For a moment all you’d been able to do was blink uncomprehendingly before realization dawned and you threw him a smile, or tried to since he’d kind of stopped looking at you entirely and has just been deathly still for the last minute or so.

After that you’ve forgotten yourself too much to not let your eyes wander, the white of his blind eye snagging your attention next and then the scars that crawled up the entirety of one side of his face and sprawled into his hair stole all of your remaining attention once more.

The scars are steep and plentiful and even the reports on his injury from back when he was originally caught by the explosive didn’t do even the sight of the scars left behind justice.

Finally, his expression registers and you cringe back and tear your gaze away from him entirely at the edges of the grimace you can see on his downturned face.

Way to go, you’ve gone and made the man uncomfortable.

“I’m ready when you are,” you say quickly, voice soft as you move further into his sparse personal space in the tower.

With a tentative two person shift and shuffle routine eventually you both end up settling down, you sitting towards the edge of the only lounge chair in his sitting room - bare feet planted flat on the unbelievably soft carpet - and Earving on the ground between your spread legs.

You don’t really talk much after that, preoccupied with getting his hair saturated with water so that it’s ready for you to detangle and stretch. The last thing you want to do is take length off of Earving’s hair that he didn’t want and skew his trust like that.

Up close his scarring is easier for you to map out as you brush your fingers over his wet curls with the finger of one hand, nothing but the edge of your pinkie on your other hand daring to press into his hairline in order to brace his head and keep it still.

Unthinkingly you stray from running over his curls to trace the border of the patch of skin between the scars on his head and the growth of his hair with your nail. The blunt point shifts fine hairs and barely applies any pressure as it goes but Earving shivers anyway.

The speed you snatch your hand back with jostles the both of you.

“Sorry!” Your voice comes out mostly squeak as you pull away even more, doing everything but straight up sailing across the room as your face heats up something fierce - though your cheeks show nothing for it - and your hands raise placatingly. “I’m so sorry. That’s on me. I wasn’t thinking—”

Your word vomit stops dead when Earving begins shaking his head and fully pivots his head up to look at you. From between your legs where he’s sitting down, stretched out legs crossed at the ankle in front of him and face on full display for you, he looks so damn unreal your words peter off like a dying engine.

Christ almighty if Earving didn’t look painful, but he was perfect all the same.

Watching the way he so readily faces you now with both his good and bad eye without obstruction and the tentative quirk of his lips, you shiver. So fucking perfect.

He shakes his head again, his functioning eye still meeting one of your similarly brown ones, and then leans forward to press a lingering kiss to the bend of your knee.

At no point does he stop holding your gaze.

A tiny noise falls from your lips and you watch, entranced, as a full lopsided smile takes over the bottom half of his face before he nuzzles into the brown skin on the inside of your thigh with another branding press of his lips.

“Earving,” you breathe, too close to choked up to regulate your voice anymore than that.

Your tone is incredibly transparent, but you can’t even be mad about it when he’s gazing up at you with such a sharp glimmer in his eye.

In response he wraps a tender hand around your ankle and taps lightly at your skin for you to continue before stretching his neck back until his damp hair is pressed to your stomach again.

Painfully aware of your closeness - and where his head is, good lord - you heed his request with far steadier fingers than before.

Y’all were good. He’s pretty clearly just shown you that, now you just had to let yourself believe it.

This time when you press against his head to shift him around as you work you’re not so tentative.

When you brush your free hand down his face to ease him into a better angle for you to pick out his hair he leans into your hold and strengthens it, his breath rushing over your fingers like a proclamation as you run the pad of your middle finger over the bow of his lip and the raised lines of his scars brand a claim into your palm.

When the teeth of the pick snag on a tight congregation of coils and you murmur a soft apology his thumb rubs circles into the ball of your foot and sends shivers up your dark skin.

When you’ve finally combed out his shrinkage and pulled out the well loved hair grade shears he responds to the shaky breath you take while lifting the blades to his head with a firm grip on your ankle and a strong squeeze to ground you.

The both of you move like this for the rest of the hour and by the end you’re trimming with steady hands and intermittently tipping Earving’s head up to blow away stray hair trimmings and press little kisses along his hairline just to draw out his telltale huff of laughter.

Sure, after this you’ll both go back to just being two people working in the same unfeeling company and Earving will go back to being Black Noir, one of the ever merciless gods that you were all little more than ants in the eyes of, but for now he pulls you up and you tug him down and y’all are able to come together like wayward nephilim to experience the finer things in life somewhere in the middle of all that hierarchical bullshit.

Just for an hour or two; trapped in your own little pocket of the world.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed! Please mind any typos, I am but one lowly creature and my eyes can only catch so much.

I don’t know why this character is so amazing at being my impromptu spur of the moment muse, but he really is so good for it.

Also, lowkey I kind of feel like Noir would wear his mask all the time even if he’s wearing civilian clothes like Wade/Deadpool tends to do (and there might’ve been a Vought commercial of him wearing civilian clothing over his suit once so there’s also that option). I don’t know, the image just came to me.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

[infiniterealms]

Infinite Realms: A Danny Phantom Remix Event

Have you ever read an amazing fic and wanted to have a go at it yourself, but felt too shy or like you’d be doing something wrong? Have you ever seen the Two Cakes comic and wistfully remembered a oneshot someone wrote that you wish you could continue? Do you want to show an author you love their work to the point of your own creation, but you don’t know how to make fanart?

This is your opportunity to give something new a try!

What is a fanfiction remix?

When you remix a fanfiction, you write a piece based directly off the fic. There are many ways to do this, and the ones accepted in this event are as follows.

POV Flip - Retelling the same events from a different character's point of view.

Role Reversal - Swapping the roles of two key characters. An example would be remixing a fic where Valerie hunts Danny, by turning Valerie into the hunted and Danny into the hunter in your version.

Sequel/Prequel - The events leading up to or following the fic. This should overlap with either the first or last scene of the original.

Genre Change - Changing the fic to a different genre. An example could be changing a modern day canon setting to medieval fantasy or to a space opera.

For Want of a Nail - One small detail at the beginning of fic is changed, causing things to happen differently.

One Crucial Detail - Focus on what you think is the most important detail of the fic for a character’s point of view, and let everything else fall away.

Guidelines

For this event, we will be doing gen fics only. This is to create a space where everyone can enjoy the pieces regardless of shipping preferences. Potential future iterations of this event may include a shipping option.

Other types of remixes are okay if the author of the oneshot specifies that in their fic description.

Three things cannot be changed - who the characters are, the basic setting, and the basic plot.

Please keep your pieces rated T and under, and use all appropriate trigger warnings.

No direct plagiarism - you need to write things in your own words for the fic to be included in the collection. It’s okay to quote some dialogue or a key sentence or two, especially if you’re writing overlapping scenes, but your fic should mostly be your own words.

In the spirit of the event, crossovers should be avoided unless the author specifically states on their fic that they would be okay with them. In future years we may introduce a crossover category, but for now, avoiding crossovers makes your pieces more accessible to everyone in the fandom.

This event is specifically for writers. However, if artists wish to participate, then they can also feel free to do so. 

Timeline

January 5th to 12th - Initial Author Sign Ups

Please note that I’m hoping for 10 to 12 initial authors, so that there will be a decent selection of one shots for remixing during February.

This is first come first served, but even if allocations are exhausted, that’s okay! You can still participate in writing remixes in February for this event, and there’s no reason you can’t write your own oneshot anyway and tag it that remixes are welcome anytime.

January 13th to 26th - Initial Oneshot Writing Time

The 10 to 12 initial authors will write their oneshots. These pieces should be:

1k to 3k words long

A new or recent oneshot written for Danny Phantom

Rated T and under, and use all appropriate trigger warnings

Gen fics only

January 27th to 30th - Final Review

This is time for last minute questions, beta reading, and formatting for initial authors.

January 31st to February 1st - Initial Oneshots Posted

All of the initial oneshots will be posted, and listed in a masterlist on the infiniterealms tumblr blog with summaries and any author preferences.

February 1st to 28th - Writing Time!

Everyone is welcome to participate! This is not a contest this time, it’s just a celebration of shared interests and a different way of engaging with fic.

Posting instructions will be released on February 1st.

There is no limit to how many pieces anyone writes.

There are no word count restrictions.

All pieces should follow the event guidelines in order to be reblogged on the infiniterealms tumblr or included in the ao3 collection.

February 28th - Last Day to Post!

Last official posting day for your remix fics.

Looking forwards to seeing what you all come up with!

Event organised by @lexiepiper Icon by the very talented @jackdaw-sprite

[stepinthyme]

The Red Means I Love You

Alice Wu Gulliver x Necromancer!Reader

Your girlfriend told you she'd be gone to finish some buisness, and you feel her death happen. You refuse to let her go.

Word Count: 1k

Content: second person, no use of Y/N, ressurection, kissing, fluff, blood and gore, Alice is naked but that is not the focus here. Reader is refered to as "girlfriend" at one point, but otherwise this could be read as gender neutral

A/N: If no one will feed me, I will feed MYSELF. I may cross post this to ao3 in the morning, but I needed to get this out of my head while it was all still fresh. This is very heavily inspired by Marcille's ressurection of Falin from Dungeon Meshi, but fuck it, if Billy's allowed to ressurect Tommy by putting his soul into another kid's dead body, then theres gotta be at least one other person able to do necromancy, and why not do lesbianism. Alice is probably a little ooc but I did this in like an hour, cut me some slack.

Today, running the butcher’s was very slow, predictable for the sleepy little metropolitan area of Eastview and Westview. It was run of the mill and average, what everyone in the town basically forced it to be ever since the scarlet witch scared half the people within a three mile radius.

You were just finishing the last of closing procedures and headed into your apartment above the shop, making a quick dinner and settling in for a simple night watching tv when you could feel it. The moment Alice's life was snuffed out. No, more like drained out of her, in a drawn out action. She had told you she was just going to finish some family related business, that she'd be back before the night was over. She'd be back before you knew it. Kissed you on the cheek and everything like she did when she'd head off to work.

Before you had even really processed anything else, you were already setting up the ritual, drawing out a sigil with chalk, placing candles in the appropriate places, scouring your cabinets for all the assorted offerings needed.

You and Alice had met because you were outcast witches. She had distanced herself from the craft after the death of her mother. And you were known as the disgrace of all green witchcraft. You were an odd duo, but you were happy so long as you were together. She had asked you a few times how you had earned your title, and you always laughed it off.

She was going to finally learn why you were called that very quickly.

You were grateful for your day job as a butcher, as you used magic to carry large cuts of cow and lamb, bones and all from the commerical freezer to the living room. plopping them haphazardly onto the sigil. It wasn't her body, but it would do in a pinch. You would deal with any consequences later. You lit the candles and got onto your knees, placing your hands on the sigil as you began the incantation you had done at least a dozen times. Your voice almost seemed to echo through the room as forbidden magics are called upon.

In a basement a couple miles away, death reaches out for a soul, only to see her violently yanked away from her grasp, disappearing from sight.

You continue to shout as the meat and bone fuse together, almost melting as it reformed itself into a human shape, features slowly refining itself to resemble the soul now bound to it. The last touches are added as your girlfriend, albeit covered in blood and naked, now lies in the middle of the circle. You nearly collapse, but you stare anxiously, hoping, praying, that it worked.

Alice's eyes snap open as she bolts upright, gasping for air. You release a breath you didn't realize you were holding as the tears finally roll down your face and pull her into a tight hug.

��Alice! Alice, I thought I lost you, I..”

You continue to squeeze her, kissing various spots on her face, not caring about the copper taste of the blood. Alice seemed to be finally coming out of shellshock as her hands found their way to tangle in your hair. Her eyes met yours.

“Is… is this real? Am I really here?”

“Yes Alice, you’re really here, I promise. You're here. I'm here.”

Without much warning, you were pulled in for a deep kiss. If you didn't know any better, you'd have thought she hadn't seen you in months with how desperate it was. Your tongues danced with no clear rhythm as you tried to get enough of each other, only stopping when you both needed air. Alice let out a huffy laugh of disbelief.

“How did you… how did you even do this? I was dead. I saw death.”

You glance away, picking at some of the melted wax on one of the candles, suddenly conscious of what you had done, how much of an overreach it might have been.

“It's. A long story, trust me. I understand if you don't want to be around me anymore after this, I just-” Alice gently takes your hands in hers, rubbing circles with her thumbs.

“Hey, hey. It's okay. Look at me?” You meet her gaze once more, her warm eyes looking softly at you.

“It's okay. What happened was weird, yes. But I think quite literally breaking the laws of life and death is maybe the most romantic thing a girlfriend has done for me. Just don't make a habit of it, okay?” You can't help but laugh at that.

“Only if you don't make a habit of it. What even happened?” Alice paused at that.

“It’s also a long story. I’ll tell you after I get cleaned up. You should probably too, considering” she gestures to your now bloodsoaked clothes, and you nod.

“I’ll take care of the cleaning in here while you shower, and I'll meet you in the bedroom later after I get washed up. If you're still awake by then, we can exchange stories. Otherwise that can wait till morning. Alright?” She nods, placing one last kiss to your forehead before attempting to get up and then immediately falling over. You stand up, offering a hand to her.

“Need help?” She takes it, and you help pull her up, resulting in a much more successful attempt to stand than the last one.

“I thought I was supposed to be the one protecting you.” You can't help but giggle at the remark.

“Everyone needs help once and a while. The usual doting can wait for later.”

You walk with her to the bathroom to make sure she doesn't fall again before even making it to the tub, before heading back to dig through the supply closet. You pull out the cleaning supplies and head back to the living room area, and the now giant stain of blood and chalk on your floor. Necromancy is a bitch, but it's all worth it now that you have Alice back with you. Whatever happens next, the two of you can sort it out together.

[pettyprocrastination]

Leg Day

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Female Powerlifter!Reader

Summary: You first catch Art Donaldson's eye in the university gym when all you want to do is hit back and biceps before class, the tennis player finds himself quite caught in your physique.

Warnings: foul language, smut, oral (f receiving), Art eats pussy and likes your thighs a whole lot. Reader is described as muscular. One line describes reader as not looking like Tashi in terms of physique.

Word Count: 1k

Author's note: Forcing myself to get back into writing at the same time im forcing myself to get back to the gym :') take this lil ficlet as a sign of my love for those who still follow me on here lmaoo.

Art adored your thighs. 

You didn’t look like Tashi. Not that there was anything wrong with that in his mind, of course. But the physiques differed greatly. The star tennis player of Stanford had a lean build from her years of training and perfecting her sport. Long legs that covered the court in smooth strides and toned arms that delivered a vicious backhand. 

The same body he and Patrick had nearly shared that one fateful night in a dingey hotel room when they should have been sleeping before their match in the morning. The same body he had found his gaze lingering on a touch too long to be appropriate for his best friend's girlfriend. 

And the same body you called him out for drooling over in the campus gym when all you wanted to do was a simple arm workout before your 10 am. 

“So are you actually going to use the bench or are you just gonna sit on it and stare at her like a fucking creep for another twenty minutes?” 

You were not Tashi Duncan. 

Strong arms crossed over one another as you waited for him to either say something or move, neither of which his brain could comprehend as you stood before him expectantly. A powerful, if not a tad intimidating physique supported by thick, muscular quads built from years of lifting heavy in sweat-filled weight rooms since you were a little girl that grew tired of soccer. 

Then cheer. 

Then volleyball. 

The gymnastics. 

Powerlifting was the one sport that finally stuck. 

“It makes me feel strong.” You had explained your love for the sport to him one night. With his head laying in your lap, the textbook he had carried with him to your dorm under the excuse of needing help studying now laid discarded on your floor as he listened to your story. “Seeing how much I can lift, how it feels to finally make a weight you’ve been struggling with for so long. It feels like you’re proving something, you know? Especially when you’re one of the only girls in the weight room.” 

Art could feel the testament to your craft under him. The thick corded muscle of your quads beneath his head as your fingers carded through his hair absentmindedly. Legs that were hugged by every pair of shorts you wore or hidden beneath the same pair of Stanford sweatpants whenever you felt a chill in the air. He found himself dreading the coming of winter as the two of you began to spend more time together. 

He wasn’t sure when the admiration began to shift into something deeper, slowly turning from one athlete showing respect for another’s commitment to their sport into a hormonal college freshman staring at your ass in spandex shorts each time he bumped into you at the campus gym. 

What he did know was that the night he finally found himself between your legs was one he would never forget. How quickly the pair of you shed your clothes in one anothers embrace, turning your room into nothing more than a collection of discarded study packets and kicked off Stanford merch telling the story that Art would no doubt replay in his mind for the entirety of winter break. 

The soft smile on your face as he crawled on top of you, pressing fervent kisses to every inch of your body that you would allow him access. How he memorized each microscopic reaction, that a kiss to your neck would make you giggle but turn into a shuddering gasp if he dug his teeth into the skin. How you softened in his arms when he ran his tongue along the scar lining your hip, one he would have to ask you about someday. 

But dear God, he could write poetry about your legs. 

The feeling of them wrapping around his head while he lapped at your cunt with tentative kitten licks that soon turned into devouring you with a desperation that could no doubt be heard through the walls. Your muscles twitching and trembling from his touch as you cried out his name with an arched back and scrambling hands, desperately trying to reach him until you found purchase in his soft curls, gripping just tight enough to verge on being painful. His own moans mixing with yours, poor bastard getting so lost in giving you pleasure he didn't even realize when he began to grind his hips into your mattress, desperately searching for a release while helping you reach your own. 

To hear your voice pitch into an airy whine as your thighs tightened around his head. Tighter and tighter as he pushed you over the edge of your orgasm, hips twitching against his mouth still working away against your dripping cunt in a way that verged on being gluttonous until you pulled him away with a sharp tug on his hair. 

In the aftermath, a silence settled over the two of you like a soft blanket. Spit-slicked lips laid feather-light kisses against the still twitching muscles of your thighs, pressing against the blooming bite marks that he knew would just barely peek out from the cuff of your shorts you wore during your morning training sessions. A minuscule stake of claim that he had no business branding you with given that he was too chickenshit to take you out on a real date. 

Had you opened your eyes, you’d see that his were already trained on you with a softness you weren’t yet ready to see. Admiring the rise and fall of your chest with a faint smile on his face and the desire to take you out properly. To scrounge up enough money from his bank account after the room & board payments bleed him dry to some small burger shop or maybe the local theater to see you outside of the walls of your dorm or the university gym, wearing something nice and laughing at his jokes before kissing him goodnight. To sit in the stands of his next match as his girlfriend and congratulate him on his win with an overly obnoxious kiss that he would swear was humiliating but made him preen under your praise like a peacock during mating season. To do all of the downright nauseatingly romantic bullshit every nineteen year old boy wanted to do with the girl he was too afraid to actually make a move on. 

But not yet. 

“Have you ever considered wrestling? You’ve got a killer leg lock.”

[emchante]

Omg, congrats on 1k, love that for you, so deserved. I think an appropriate celebration would be a Daniel request, so here I am.

Ex! Danny unexpectedly reuniting with the reader, except they never really got over each other. One thing leads to another, and smut ensues with ❛ go on. fuck yourself on my cock. ❜ from the prompt list.

lost and found | d. ricciardo

nonnie, oh my god. this prompt was so fucking hot, and i loved every second writing this. honestly, these are drabbles, but i'd be so down to do a full fic about this. enjoy<3

ex!daniel ricciardo x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ content, riding, dirty talk, dom!daniel, public sex.

the club pulsed with energy, yet the world around you faded into a blur as you locked eyes with daniel from across the room. it had been years since you’d seen him, and the moment you caught sight of that familiar smile, your heart raced. even after all this time, the chemistry between you was undeniable.

as you navigated through the throng of people, he stepped toward you, confidence radiating off him. the air was thick with unspoken words, memories of late-night conversations, and moments that had been left unfinished.

“i can’t believe it’s really you,” he said, his voice a low murmur that sent shivers down your spine. his gaze roamed your body, igniting a familiar heat you thought you’d buried long ago. the way he looked at you was too familiar, too intimate.

“yeah,” you replied, your breath hitching. you had to act casual, act normal. he could be himself, you can be yourself, “it’s been too long, dan.”

before you could say another word, he pulled you into a secluded corridor, away from prying eyes, and shoved you into one of the empty bathroom stalls. the world outside faded, and it was just the two of you, lost in the magnetic pull that had drawn you together again.

“still as gorgeous as ever,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a wave of desire coursing through you. you gulped at his words, your ears burning as his soft lips grazed against it.

“daniel…” you started, but he silenced you with a searing kiss, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you closer. you melted against him, your body craving more. he spun you around as you kissed, sitting down on the toilet lid as he pulled you onto his lap. a moan escaped you as you felt his prominent erection against you.

“go on,” he breathed heavily, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, his voice low and commanding. “fuck yourself on my cock, sweetheart.”

the words sent a jolt of electricity through you, igniting a fire deep within. your heart raced, and without a second thought, you nodded, surrendering to the moment. you reached for his belt, fingers trembling with anticipation as you unbuckled it, your eyes never leaving his.

“fuck, yes,” he urged, his eyes darkening with desire, “you know how much i’ve missed this, baby? how much i’ve missed your tight, pretty cunt around me? no pussy is as good as yours, been thinking about it since we split.”

you whined as you pushed down his pants, revealing the hard length of him, and your breath caught in your throat. the sight of him made your mouth water, a primal need surging within you. you wrapped your fingers around him, stroking slowly, relishing the way he groaned at your touch.

“now, show me,” he demanded, his voice thick with lust. “show me how much you want it. show me you’re still a slut for my cock, because i know you are. that’s one thing i know hasn’t changed.”

with a determined glint in your eye, you raised yourself up, slipping your panties to the side before you positioned yourself down, the head of his cock pressing against you. you took a moment, savoring the anticipation, before sinking down onto him, a gasp escaping your lips as he filled you completely.

“just like that,” he encouraged with a deep moan, his hands finding your hips, guiding you as you began to move. the pleasure was intoxicating, more so than the alcohol, each thrust sending waves of ecstasy crashing over you. you could feel him pulse inside you, his own pleasure mirroring yours.

“fuck, you feel incredible,” he groaned, his grip tightening as he encouraged you to ride him harder. “don’t hold back. let me feel you, let me know how much you’ve missed my cock.”

lost in the rhythm, you surrendered to the sensations, the world around you forgotten. the connection between you was electric, and as you moved together, the years of longing melted away, leaving only the raw, undeniable chemistry that had always existed between you. it was clearly a bad decision, one you needed to talk about. but now, you were pleasure driven, chasing your orgasm as your cunt took daniel’s full cock.

“more,” he urged, his voice low and desperate. he started to thrust harshly, chasing his own orgasm as his eyes switched from your dazed expression, to the sight of your sopping cunt taking his whole cock.  “i want to feel you cum, sweetheart. going to make you cum for every year we’ve been apart.”

[kquil]

hello! I'm here to request a 🍪 with poly marauders, where they ask the reader if they would like to be their partener and they're nervous and stuff

-thank you, have a lovely day !!

A/N : this is the finally cookie requested from my 1k milestone event, thank you so much for the request, darling and im so sorry for taking such a long time to deliver it, i really hope you enjoy the read, my lovely!

They had never been so nervous or anxious before. You were the one and only person to accept their unconventional relationship over everyone else when they first revealed that they were in a poly relationship with each other. What makes the situation even more anxiety-inducing is the fact that you were one of their closest friends, long before they even got into a relationship with one another, therefore, if they really followed through with this, they’d be risking their long-time friendship with you as well. Looking into each other’s eyes, it’s clear that they share the same anxieties for the decision they wanted to ultimately make. 

Having understood and supported their relationship more than most, you were their common confidant and dearest friend… no… being around you didn’t feel like being around a friend, nor were you like any type of sibling to them. You didn’t fit into any comfortable category or label anymore. That line and distinction was blurred a long time ago, maybe even before they got together as a trio. 

You felt more than a friend when you helped Remus through his thoughts on a daily basis, speaking to him softly and laying out his thoughts with much more clarity than he could ever imagine. You’re always there to help him go through his problems no matter how minute they may be and the tall brunette is incredibly grateful — he never wants to take you for granted. You don’t feel like a friend when you know exactly what Remus needs after a long and hard day. And, especially not when you allow him to hold you tenderly from behind as you help cook the boys their dinner, especially when they all feel lazy and tuckered out from a long day’s work. Remus would often press his face into the slopes of your neck and shoulder, breathing in your familiar fragrance and would sigh in relief, your scent giving him comfort. His arms wanting to hold you longer than what was appropriate for ‘just friends’, oftentimes, you’d let him without any complaints of discomfort. 

“Are you feeling good, Rem?” you’d muse, your voice like sweet honey and warm milk to his ears, cosy and ever so comforting. 

“Mmmm…yeah,” he’d reply, appreciating the hand you would reach up to briefly comb through his hair and massage his scalp with.

You felt more than a friend when you knew exactly what to say to Sirius if he was ever acting up. He had a horrible habit of acting first and thinking later, however, you were the only one who seemed to calm him down enough to temper his fury and instinctual need to act first, giving him clarity with your words and gentle touch. He’d be on the ground, back against the wall and burying his face into the plush warmth of your stomach as you kneel between his legs. He’d hold you desperately, clinging onto the fabric of your clothes as you soothe him by petting his hair and saying everything he needed to hear in that moment. Somehow, you always knew what to say. You don’t feel like a friend when he’s spooning you from behind, seeking comfort and warmth as you read a book. Your book wouldn’t hold your attention for long, however, as you would eventually deem Sirius’ comfort and needs more important than your need to finish a book. So, like clockwork, you’d turn around in his arms and he could finally feel the reciprocated action of your arms winding around his figure and pulling him close. Naturally, he buries his smiling face into your chest and you’d soon begin humming a soft tune to fill the already comforting silence. 

“Don’t leave when I’m asleep…” Sirius whispers pleadingly, whining almost. 

“Never, Siri,” and that was all he needed to fall into a deep slumber, smiling and always finding the sweetest dreams that often featured you as well as a great amount of kisses. 

You felt more than a friend whenever you’d let James sit in the kitchen with you and ‘help’ you cook breakfast, lunch or dinner, whatever it may be. He’d watch you with such fond eyes, he was surprised that you never noticed his more than friendly appreciation of you. Every once in a while, you would turn to him with a spoonful of the dish in your hand and ask him to have a taste — it was his turn to contribute to the cooking. It made him feel important and involved and like he was sharing a special moment with you.

“How is it, James?”

“As perfect and delicious as always!” he replies happily, licking his lips and grinning even wider when he hears your melodious giggle follow straight after. 

“I couldn’t have done it without your immaculate taste in food,” you would humbly reply, cupping his cheek and staring into his eyes with what he wants to deem as love and affection from someone who’s more than a friend. That small moment of joy, however, is quickly broken as soon as you turn your attention away from him. James fights the urge to turn you back to him, lean forward and capture your lips in a heated kiss, a plea and desperate attempt at convincing you to love him, Sirius and Remus as official partners.

You don’t feel like a friend when you would go out of your way to be there for James whenever something was happening in his life, big or small — you were there for him when he was getting ready for his job interview, when he got the job, got his first promotion, when he wanted to eat lunch with someone because he felt lonelier than usual; you were there for everything and so much more. 

It only felt natural for them to take that final step with you but, just like how nerve wracking it was for them to confess to one another, it was the same apprehension that clogged up their throats and made it difficult to form the words. 

“What’s wrong, you guys?” your soft voice pulls them out of their concentrated apprehension. It was the usual Saturday lunch you spent at their flat except, this time, they cooked the meal for you — it was a pleasant surprise, especially when their cooking turned out better than it typically did. For a while, you were the only eating the food, ignorant to their spiralling thoughts. However, when you finally did notice, the concern was evident in your eyes, largely because James wasn’t hoovering up his food like he usually was, nor was Remus engaging in conversation with you about the book you were both reading together, nor was Sirius subconsciously expressing his deeply learned table etiquette and reprimanding James of his lack of manners like a mother hen. Today, they shared the same daunting expression and it was contagious, rubbing off on you like the plague. 

“We uhhh…” Remus begins, gulping with difficulty as he shares a look with the others, “we have something to ask you…”

“What is it?” your question is filled with caution, a direct response to their strange unease around you, “You guys are acting very stra—” 

“We love you!” James blurts out which immediately diminishes your worries and draws an adorable giggle from you, one that they all melt over.

“I love you guys too,” with a smile, you happily continue your meal and completely miss their intentions. 

“No,” Remus says, “not like that…” his statement makes your brows raise in shock, you search their eyes for answers as your heart begins to race — both from fear and a hint of hope.  

“More than that type of love, dollface,” Sirius clarifies, hoping that it was enough for you to understand them. 

James reaches over and touches your hand, caressing your knuckles tenderly with his thumb, “we don’t just love you, we want to love you,” it was a little saying between you and James, one that made you fall in love with him and eventually Sirius and Remus too. 

With happy tears welling up in your eyes, you look into James’ hazel pools and finally finally see the abundance of love swimming in them, only for you, “like the verb?” you ask in a tear-filled, weak voice. 

James laughs and nods eagerly as Remus and Sirius smile fondly at you, the latter of the two reaching out to gently wipe your face of the tears spilling past your waterline, “like the verb, love,” James brings your knuckles to his lips and kisses them lovingly.

Your answering nod was all they needed to round the table and pull you into an embrace, their lips eager to meet yours in a passionate and loving embrace. 

1K MILESTONE EVENT : CLOSED | NAVI.

[meljaymicrofics]

🎄 PROMPTS ⸻ MERRY MELJAY DECEMBER 2024!

Here are the prompts for the month of December. Feel free to switch any of the days with one another. We are looking forward to seeing you in the tag on December 1st!

Interested in participating? Check out the FAQ under the cut!

How does Meljay Microfics work?

We’ll release a monthly prompt list to inspire you! Each microfic must feature Mel Medarda & Jayce Talis from Arcane. Meljay can be platonic friends, lovers, enemies, or whatever dynamic you are inclined to write them in. The microfic must be Meljay-centric to be featured on this blog.

How long can the microfics be?

We invite you to write a work of fiction with a wordcount under 1k. Therefore, your work should be a standalone, meant to be read without having to read a larger work so that readers can enjoy it to the fullest.

What should the fic be about? 

Whatever you want! Canon or AU, crack or general use the prompt however you see fit. Any genre is accepted! You can combine prompts, if you’d like. How you use the prompt is up to your interpretation! Let your muse move you.

You don’t have to write for every prompt of the month. There’s no pressure here, no commitment. This is just for fun. 

There are no stipulations on ratings, just be sure to add appropriate tags & content warnings to the top of post. If there is NSFW or sensitive topics in your piece, be sure to place it under a read more.

How do I get my work featured?

If you participate, we’d love to see your work! Tag us @meljaymicrofics & tag your work with #meljaymicrofics, and we’ll reblog your fic! Be sure to include the prompt word you were inspired by within the post!

There’s also an AO3 COLLECTION that you can post your microfics to if interested.

Can I submit a prompt?

Yes! Feel free to send it in, and we’ll include it in the next month’s list if we can.

Do you allow AI works?

AI works are prohibited and will not be reblogged onto the blog or accepted within the collection. We value your creativity here.

What if I have a question/suggestion.

Feel free to drop an ask!

[2000sangel]

heyy! I’d love to request something for Hazbin Hotel if there’s still space in your inbox! I would like a ficlet of Angel Dust x gn! reader in which he comes back to the hotel after an awful day with Val and just breaks down when he sees them. Then reader can take care of him, give him a hug and prepare a warm bath and comfy clothes for him because he must feel uncomfortable wearing his “work clothes” after such a bad day… I just want to hold him and wipe his smudged makeup off and tell him that everything will be okay 🫂🫂

obv feel free to ignore this if it doesn’t inspire you!

Hey there! This is...kinda long, hope that's okay!! (1k words or so) Also had a mildly irritating day today so writing this was therapeutic, even though I started this yesterday. Anyhow, hope you enjoy :3

Angel x Gn!Reader - Solace

First came the thunder, then the blaring sound of a car door being slammed close. It was a particularly gloomy evening in Hell, heavy drops of rain battered against the walls of the Hazbin Hotel, which seemed uncharacteristically quiet besides the occasional cheery tune sang by Niffty, who was still dealing with cleaning.

Your head shot up at the sound of the tires of the limousine screeching outside, and you quickly threw your phone aside as you guessed you would be dealing with more important matters tonight, seeing as your boyfriend Angel had returned later than usual.

That was never a good sign.

Picking up a random umbrella from the stand placed near the entrance of the Hotel, you swiftly opened the door after pressing the button on the little remote designed to unlock the gate outside.

The air was frigid, yet you still made your way towards Angel, who seemed to be trudging himself more than walking. As you shielded him from the rain, his baggy eyes met yours, and he immediately threw himself in your arms, wetting your clothes with the rain water he was soaked in.

“Shit, they didn’t even give you an umbrella?” you hissed, walking him inside; “What happened today Angel?”

You didn’t think he could’ve furrowed his eyebrows more. Tears prickled his eyes as he answered you;

“Let’s not...talk about it.”

The lack of pet names in his sentence and wiliness in his voice concerned you greatly. Even Husk refrained from offering him a drink, focusing on the glass he was rinsing instead.

Angel didn’t even bother saying hello to the rest of the residents of the Hotel, opting to stay by your side as you led him to his room. Once you finally closed the door and you could have a moment of privacy, he let a sob escape his mouth, and you immediately wrapped your arms around his figure.

Despite being taller than you he still hid his head in the crook of your neck, holding onto you for dear life as you gently drew circles on his back with one hand and massaged his scalp with the other. You could feel that his hair was a mess, wet and tangled, yet you still placed kisses on the top of his head and whispered sweet nothings in the hope that he’d calm down.

He tried letting himself fall onto his bed, but you steadied him;

“Baby,” you murmured, “you’re soaked. How about a bath first, hm?”

His clothes were also not the most appropriate for cuddling and resting, you noticed.

He gave you a weak nod and reluctantly separated his body from yours, letting you hold his hand and walk with him to his private bathroom.

You had done this before; your hand reached for the soft pink chair he had placed behind the door and dragged it near his bathtub, then for the various products Angel usually used when he took a bath or a shower. Shampoo and conditioner for his hair, his comb, body wash, his sponge and finally his fancy bathrobe. You neatly placed everything within arm’s reach and turned on the faucet, turning your gaze back to Angel.

“I think it’s only fair if I take care of you tonight. If you’re okay with it, of course?” you asked him with a soft smile. He returned it.

“Of course. It’s just...”

You didn’t fully get it at first, but then he gestured to his body with one set of his arms, holding himself with the other, and you finally got what he was trying to tell you.

“I told you so many times love. I’m not disgusted by you, I’m disgusted by...what he does to you.” Your mind dared wandering to Valentino, and you asked yourself what he could’ve done to your partner that night. You decided not to dwell on it for the time being.

Angel let out a sigh, starting to undress. You had seen each other’s bodies many times before, but you still turned around out of respect and focused on your nails until he was done and inside the bathtub, which had been filled with warm water in the meantime.

Your gaze fell on a little box placed on the edge of the tub; opening it, you fished out a spider web shaped bath bomb; in the corner of your eye you could see Angel’s expression brightening a little, and a smile naturally grew on your face.

“I think you deserve some fun.” You stated, plopping it into the water, which immediately started fizzing around it.

Angel relaxed, leaning his back against the wall behind him, and slid slightly deeper into the water as you sat down on the chair you had dragged nearby earlier. Silence temporarily filled the bathroom as you both observed the bath bomb shrink, tinting the water a bright pink with sparkles.

Soon afterwards you found yourself going through your usual bad day’s routine with Angel; gently wiping off the smeared makeup on his face, massaging the shampoo on his scalp – you were the only one allowed to touch his hair like this – and talking about your own day to him as he washed his body to distract him from the bad thoughts he got just from the sight of the rope burns on his wrists. You had to bite back a vexed insult directed at Valentino when your eyes fell on those.

You decided to prepare some comfortable clothes for him as he dried his hair; settling on a cute but comfortable pink sweatshirt and shorts of the same color, you neatly folded them on his bed and sat beside them, noticing that someone had dropped your phone off while you were busy bathing with Angel. Most likely Husk, you thought; you mindlessly scrolled on your socials until you heard the bathroom’s door open.

Angel emerged from it, fluffy hair held back from his forehead by a headband and his body kept warm by his bathrobe.

“Oh, you’re done. Here’s your clothes sweetheart,” you handed them to him, and he thanked you with a kiss. Your attention returned on your phone for a short while as he was dressing himself up.

You heard him sigh at some point though; you curiously looked up at him.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, worried.

“Would it be too much sugar...to ask for cuddles tonight?” he asked with an uncharacteristically shy smile.

Throwing your phone aside you shook your head, and opened your arms as an invitation. He swiftly took it and climbed into bed, positioning himself in your lap. Your arms draped across the small of his back and he breathed out contently, nuzzling his head against your shoulder.

You both listened to the rain outside incessantly falling down, and you softly leaned backwards until your back touched the mattress. As Angel’s breaths steadied and he began quietly snoring you looked down at him, your heart filled with warmth.

I’ve got you now, you thought, breathing in his scent; he can’t hurt you as long as you’re with me.

[lovelaurs]

HOW SWEET IT IS (TO BE LOVED BY YOU)

pairing : garroth x laurance synopsis : while training in the woods together, laurance suggests the two of them take a break and enjoy each other's company. how will they enjoy it you may ask? well... tags : pre-established relationship, not so secret relationship, dueling, romantic, kissing, making out, suggestive word count : 1k a/n : i originally misunderstood my first request, which was meant to be garrance related and NOT an x reader (my bad). so, here's the awaited original prompt that was meant to be written about in the first place! title is after the same named song by remi wolf! i could see it playing as they kissed so i just HAD to name it after it. hope you enjoy!

MASTERLIST

The sound of metal clashing was all that could be heard within the forest.

Garroth and Laurance were having their weekly training session out in the woods, a place they chose specifically for its factor of being quiet. Nobody would be able to bother them out here.

As they continued their third battle for the day, Laurance dodged attack by attack from his trusty partner, managing to outrun each strike Garroth sent him.

Of course, his luck would only run so long after so many battles today.

With Laurance dodging each of his attacks, Garroth quickly noticed his footwork getting sloppier with each blow, giving him an idea.

His plan ended up being masterful indeed, with himself dodging to the left, catching Laurance off guard and causing him to trip.

With Laurance on the ground and Garroth’s sword aimed at his throat; the duel was over.

Laurance smiled, looking up at O’Khasian. “You win again it seems.”

“Naturally.” Garroth grinned, feigning a sense of confidence as he attempted a hair flip. Laurance couldn’t help but giggle at the blonde, before a mischievous smile arrived on his lips.

“Can we take a break? I have an idea as to what we can do while we rest.”

He pulled back his sword and sheathed it, offering out his hand to Laurance. “Of course.” Garroth tilted his head in curiosity. “What do you have in mind?”

Laurance stood off his knees and took the hand Garroth had offered him, pulling himself up; allowing himself to move in closer to the blonde.

With the proximity between them closing in, Laurance whispered, “Why don’t we have some fun while we’re alone, hm?”

The suggestive tone in his voice was enough to make Garroth fluster; a light pink tinting his cheeks. He knew exactly what Laurance meant. “I-I’m not sure that would be appropriate…” He whispered, “We’re outside, Laurance. I don’t… I don’t want to get caught.” He began to nervously look around.

Laurance trailed a finger from the bottom of his neck to his chin, tilting his head up. “Are you sure? I mean, this is a very covered place… with all the shrubbery, well, I doubt we’d be seen.”

His touch sent Garroth spiraling, his eyes almost fluttering close at the feeling.

The brunette watched as the blonde’s breathing slowed, clearly calmed at Laurance’s touch, and decidedly put his other hand on his waist. 

“Well?”

Garroth drew a deep breath in, closing his eyes as he tried his best to stay composed as the other man teased him. His brain scrambled to try and think of a proper response, but alas, no solid thoughts were produced.

As the blonde was falling into the feeling, Laurance abruptly pulled his hands back and started to back away.

“But hey, if you really don’t want to, I understand-”

Within a second of Laurance trying to deescalate the situation, Garroth swooped forward, pinning the Shadow Knight against the nearest tree, his voice slightly above a whisper as he pleaded, “Please don’t stop.” 

Laurance raised an eyebrow at the request. “Wow, with the magic word and all.”

“I’ve learned from our previous encounters that you love to see me plead, Laur.” “That I do.” Laurance brought his hand around and gripped his ass, drawing a squeak out of the bulkier man.

His hand raised, wandering to the small of his back, letting his hand graze over it while giving Garroth a devious smirk. “What do you want from me, Ro’Meave? I want to hear it.”

“Everything."

That was all Laurance needed to hear before he cupped his cheek in his hand and leaned in; their lips colliding in what felt like perfect harmony.

It seemed that their more, how you say, abrupt romantic encounters were becoming ever so frequent as of late. Could it be because of Laurance’s flirtatious actions? Or perhaps how Garroth’s is so easily flustered? It’s hard to say, really. But with Laurance’s hands wandering over Garroth’s form, and his lips so passionately pressed against his, it wasn’t a hard argument to say they were completely infatuated with each other.

Garroth lowered his hands from the tree and placed them on Laurance’s hips, gripping them and pulling him closer.

Laurance pulled away with a smirk. “It seems that training riled you up, huh, Garroth?”

The blonde didn’t respond, but instead kissed him once more, shutting the brunette up. Oh how he loved doing that.

Usually, the two would fight over who would take the lead, but in this case, it seemed Laurance was fine in complying to Garroth’s overtaking presence. 

Laurance brought his other hand to his cheek as he continued to slowly rub his back as they kissed.

Garroth just couldn’t get enough.

From the way Laurance held him, to the feeling of his slightly bruised, cracked lips against him, and the way he always made sure he was okay whenever he flustered and lost his breath… he loved him.

Even if the man was quite unserious when it came to dire moments, he always made sure Garroth had a smile on his face. And after years of running and never experiencing much happiness behind his safe-guarded helmet? He needed it.

The next thing he knew, tears were running down his cheeks at the realization at just how caring Laurance really was.

Laurance pulled back at the feeling of the salt water against his hand, frowning. “What’s wrong, my love?” He wiped away the trail with his thumb. “Is everything alright?”

The blonde nodded, smiling softly at his lover. “I… I can’t believe you care for me so much.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Garroth’s grip on Laurance’s hips loosened. “It’s just that I feel unworthy of your love. That I’m not strong enough. Or- Or that I’m just not as good at showing my affection.”

“How about I show you just how worthy you are?” Laurance continued rubbing away the tears. He wanted to show Garroth all the love he deserved.

He leaned into Laurance’s touch, smiling. “I’d like that very much.”

Moments later, Garroth was on the ground with Laurance on top of him, his face in the crook of his neck planting kisses while his hands traced every curve and muscle on his body. 

Laurance pulled his face from his neck and looked Garroth in the eyes; his pupils dilated and lips puffed. “You asked me to do everything to you earlier, correct?”

"Yes…”

“Well mark my words, Garroth Ro’Meave. I’ll make sure you’ll never feel unworthy after this.”

@lovelaurs, 2024. do not repost this work in any way!

[blocky-tides]

This is a week long writing-based challenge (artists could hop on but I don't how that will work). This will be one (1) singular piece of writing written throughout the week or less if you choose a time based challenge.

You will choose a difficulty level (1-5) to begin. You are highly recommended to not choose Level 5, it is there to be impossible difficulty. Then you will select either a word-count based or time based challenge.

There are no content restrictions and is open to any MCYT community (not just Hermitcraft). I only ask for you to tag appropriately and use common sense.

Decked Out 2 Challenge Week - March 3-9

level one: the frozen crypt - 1k in one week

level two: the caves of carnage - 3k for one week or 2k for five days

level three: the black mines - 6k for one week or 3k for four days

level four: the burning dark - 10k for one week or 5k for three days

level five: beat the dungeon - 20k for one week or 10k in one day

[finniestoncrane]

Hello! I hope you're having a wonderful day. I've never made a request before, so I really hope that I'm doing it correctly! I was wondering if you could do the Riddler from Gotham and a female reader. A Fluffy Romance one where Ed wants to confess his feelings for the reader, but is a nervous wreck about it because he's worried that she won't return his feelings? I would absolutely love it if you could do this, I love your writing, and thank you for reading my request!

Gotham!Riddler x Fem!Reader, word count: 1k eeeeeee i love shy and nervous eddie!! he is my sweetest softest baby and i am so happy to indulge in this 💚 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: fluff, confessing feelings, two nervous nuggets trying to kiss

Outside of your office door, Ed was practicing his speech. He hadn't thought of it as such, but when he'd asked Lee to look over it, she had suggested it was perhaps a little wordy. And of course, in response, he had scowled, been a little annoyed, and walked off with a quiet 'thank you'. Surely everything he wanted to say to you couldn't be condensed. Surely the fact that he was barely able to silently contain his feelings for you was enough of an indication that it was pointless to even try to be succinct.

Everything had to be perfect. Entertaining, so you knew he was fun. Engaging, so you didn't tune out before the very important bits. Heartfelt, so you could tell he was being genuine and sincere.

All he wanted was a chance. To tell you how much he admired you, how beautiful and capable he thought you were, and to have you agree to let him prove that he was good enough for you, or at the very least, better than any of the other men around the GCPD.

So why was it taking so long for him to knock on your door?

He'd been standing there for almost twenty minutes, wringing his hands, practicing his deep breathing exercises, fiddling with his glasses, anything but raising his hand to the frosted glass panel and actually talking to you.

It was nerves. That was the answer to the question. An obvious answer, too. Anyone could see it by looking at him. His usually tidy hair was dishevelled, his shirt untucked from his brown, corduroy pants, hands trembling, glasses smudged, his nails frayed and chewed to the point where they hurt. His cheeks were bright red, and his forehead was sweating. These were all classic symptoms, and he knew them well. But they would only get worse the longer he stood out there, worrying and overthinking.

Ed raised his hand, reaching it forward to rap the knuckles against the door, when it suddenly burst open. And there you were, about to walk out, bumping into him and then stumbling backwards with an apology.

"Ed! I'm so sorry, are you ok?"

"I'm fine, it's ok. I can see that you're busy, so I'll just-"

"Actually, it's good timing. I was hoping to come and see you. Do you have a minute?"

"Of course! I have plenty of time for you."

You smiled, your own nerves soothed by his kindness. If only you'd had him fifteen minutes ago when you had to put your lunch in the trash, unable to eat because of the butterflies in your stomach. If only you could just find it in you to tell Ed how you felt about him, instead of living in an awkward limbo. But you had resolved to end that today, and now, he was right there in front of you. Never a better time.

"Do you think... could you come into my office? I'd rather this was a private discussion."

"Oh... yes! I actually... if we have time afterwards, and it's appropriate, I have something I'd like to discuss with you, too. Privately."

He had walked over to your desk, standing awkwardly, rocking on the heels of his feet with his hands behind his back. When you had closed the door, you felt the tension, knowing you were alone with him, committed to telling him. But you couldn't bring yourself to do it, so you offered him the floor first.

"In that case, please feel free to tell me what you wanted to talk about. My thing... it can wait, it's not... it's not important."

Ed looked stunned, shocked into a silent stupor as he wondered what he might do next. You'd given him the permission to go ahead and say what he had come there to say, but despite his high intellect, and the hours of practice, he suddenly found himself unable to speak, or to at least form sentences that actually made any sense.

"I uh... well... I-I came to see if, or say, rather... that you, well, I really... I-if I... could perhaps... The thing is... You're a v-very special p-person... to me... to the GCPD, to everyone! And... And I wondered if you wanted... if you w-would ever want... with, uh... Just..."

He licked his lips nervously, wetting them as he tried to form more words. You waited patiently, smiling softly as you realised that Ed might just be there for the exact same reason you were. It was hard not to interrupt him, but you wanted to see if you were right, and you wanted to puthim out of his misery as he fumbled over his words and began sweating, glasses steaming up and clouding his vision.

"... because I really d-do think you're... beautiful... is that inappropriate? I, uh, apologise if it is b-but I just had to ask if... uh... i-if... if-"

"Would you like to go on a date with me, Ed?"

Stopped in his tracks, Ed's eyes widened and his lips parted in a small gasp of surprise and relief.

"Of course!"

He cleared his throat, trying to settle his voice back to its regular register.

"Ahem... Of course I would. Would you?"

Leaning in to him, you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, lingering just a moment longer than was expected before you pulled back.

"Absolutely. Shall we say tonight, after work?"

"Uh... yes. Yes!"

You smiled, turning to go back to your desk.

"W-wait, don't you... didn't you need something from me?"

"Oh! I've got it now, thanks."

He nodded, flustered, a big grin pushing his cheeks into his eyes as he turned to leave your office, abstaining from giggling and punching the air until he was sure you wouldn't be able to catch him celebrating.

[stxrvel]

gym time

summary: you didn't expect to meet someone like Bucky Barnes when you decided to enter the gym, especially since his looks and words were anything but friendly.

pairing: au!bucky barnes x f!reader

words: +1k

warning: uhm, descriptions of bucky working out? some bad words. also i suck at summaries but what i was trying to say is that bucky is very suggestive here, and there will be suggestive conversations iykwim. this chapter doesn't contain too much of that but still minors do not interact!!!!

note: hi guys! um, i dont know what to say. being honest idk why i wrote this when i dont know if i'll ever be able to continue it, i think it was for the joy or fun in it and maybe trying to test new things? i kind of wrote the draft for a second part but i dont think i want this one to be a series, i wanted to see it like a drabble but i got carried away and now there are too many words. but what i do know now is that i will be pleased to write drabbles in a scenario like this, like in this universe or au. if you guys liked this (which i hope so) would you mind sending me what would you like to see next? only time will tell how good i'm doing but i hope i can at least entertain you a little. anyway, looking forward to your opinions and i really hope you like this one! since it's my first time writing in this kind of genre :'(

You were at the gym. It had been barely a week since you had started with the goal of creating a routine in your life, because work was consuming you from the inside out. Coming home no longer felt like it used to, when you still had the fever of being independent and being able to get yourself everything you wanted. Adult life really was a mud puddle compared to what we always thought as kids.

So… yeah, you decided to join the gym closest to your apartment to try to change your bad procrastination habits a bit. Maybe now that you were paying for it with your own money you'd feel more like going, just for the sake of not making the money go to waste. But, hey, it was something.

During that week everything had been relatively fine. You hadn't had any problems with anyone, no awkward comments and you had gotten some workout partners to take turns lifting weights or running on the treadmills with at the same time.

It was honestly becoming your favorite place to be after work.

And, well, of course, there was him.

The man you shared end-to-end glances with at the gym. He never came close, always kept his space, unless he had to use some machine near where you were.

He looked like a decent man… and definitely sexy. But you didn't dare get close even though it seemed to be the only thing the two of you wanted to do. The furtive glances weren't even accidental anymore, you both sought each other out through the masses of air as if it was second nature to you. And that upset you too much because it hadn't been too many days, how could you feel so passionate and heated just sharing glances with a stranger? Within what you didn't know there might be something you didn't like, even.

Anyway, you had to avert your gaze each time before it became too much, but it always seemed like it wasn't enough for the people around you not to notice.

“Why don't you just go talk to him?” Veronica spoke in front of you, waiting for Erika to leave the press to start her series.

You were on the treadmill finishing your routine that day and that man was on the other side of the gym, lifting weights like they were nothing. You had watched him for so long without embarrassment that you had almost memorized every line of his massive arms. And your partners that day had definitely noticed.

“I don't think it's appropriate,” was all you could think of.

Erika snorted, lowering her legs as she put down the weights. “She's afraid the sexual tension surrounding them will suffocate her.”

“Erika!” you scowled at her. “Stop talking nonsense.”

“I'm of the same opinion as Veronica, you should just go talk to him. If it turns out his personality isn't as sexy as his body, you're not going to lose anything and you're going to gain a lot.”

Veronica, who had already settled into the press after Erika cleaned the chair, nodded animatedly at her partner's words.

You turned your head to look at him again, just as his strong hands released the weight that bounced to the floor. You saw him shake his arms slightly and move his shoulders in circles, releasing the tension a little at a time. Even in the distance you could make out as if he were right beside you the line of his veins running around his arms and the-

“Look at her, she's drooling already.”

You clicked your tongue and Erika only shared a chuckle with Veronica. You decided to focus solely on getting the treadmill over with quickly so you could get through that day.

-

You came out of the shower with an incredible freshness dancing in your body. In the bathrooms the atmosphere was always a little cooler than in the center of the gym, so the time after the bath was one of your favorites. Veronica and Erika had already left, they had said goodbye before you entered the shower. They always left at seven o'clock at night, but you preferred to stay a little longer and enjoy the showers you paid for because you didn't have much to do at home when you got there.

With the towel over your right shoulder you walked towards the lockers to get your training bag and other belongings. You thought for a moment about leaving a few things from your bag since there would be a zumba class early tomorrow morning and maybe you were getting a little interested in going, when you heard some footsteps close to where you were.

There shouldn't have been too many people left in the gym at that time because closing time was at 8:00 p.m., so someone else must have gotten out of the shower to get their belongings just like you.

You decided to leave a few things in the locker for the next day's class, encouraging you a little more to leave the house a little earlier. Anyway, you knew Veronica would be there so you wouldn't be alone.

You pulled out the bag with the things you were going to take with you and closed the locker. You turned around to leave, when you finally realized who else had come in after you.

It was him. It was that man.

You had never met him in the evenings. He always left before seven o'clock so you never had the chance to meet him alone until that moment, when you stopped dead in front of him, your sneakers grinding against the floor as if you had braked violently at fifty kilometers per hour.

Your locker was all the way in the left corner of that room and it looked like his was a few spaces away from yours in the same direction, closer to the door.

His gaze lifted in your direction at the sound of your shoes and you had to squeeze your bag strap tightly over your shoulder, eating your embarrassment fiercely.

“Hey,” he spoke first and his voice was nothing like you had imagined.

It was incredibly better. His baritone tone, somewhat raspy and light, sounded like he didn't have a care in the world. The way he slightly curved his lips sent an electric sensation throughout your body. He had given you that smile before, but at that proximity it was a whole new experience. It seemed like your body began to vibrate on another frequency.

“How did you like the gym?”

“Uh?”

The man turned back to you, closing his locker almost at the same time and leaning his shoulder against it in the most smooth way you'd ever seen, handling his body with a confidence that almost made you feel intimidated.

“You're new here, aren't you?”

“Ah, yes,” you nodded slightly, again feeling that embarrassment make its way from your throat. “I've really liked the gym, I've felt very comfortable thankfully. And the monthly plans are very good, affordable.”

The man nodded attentively at your words, as you tried to keep your composure under his sharp gaze.

“I'm Bucky,” he suddenly introduced himself, stepping a little closer to where you stood.

“I'm Y/N,” you kept your voice steady as you raised your hand to meet his that had just extended in front of you at a safe distance. “A pleasure.”

“The pleasure's all mine,” Bucky gave your hand a good shake, causing things in your body that you were too embarrassed to admit. You didn't know if your cheeks could get flushed, but at that moment you felt like they looked cartoonish, vibrant red and hot. “And I'm glad to hear you're comfortable. I do my best to make my clients happy.”

“Oh…?”

Even though you felt spellbound under the piercing fierceness of those blue eyes, your ears were still working enough to allow your head to process what you'd heard.

“You're the owner?”

Bucky nodded and you wanted to hide your head in a hole for a moment.

So you'd been eye-fucking the owner of the gym? Hell, now that you thought about it more clearly, it could even be that this man was older than you, much older.

Oh no, the things you had to go through for not being a little more prudent. Good thing that embarrassing moment would only be in your head.

“And now that you know, you can drop any complaints or recommendations directly to me, if you want.”

You let out a short laugh, trying to cut through the awkwardness you felt inside as you realized the situation you were in.

“Sure, yeah, anything I need to tell you I'll do it personally.”

“Also if you want me to change something… give you something or do something, you can tell me.”

“Sure,” you nodded quickly, starting to move around him to get closer to the exit. Bucky wouldn't take his eyes off you. “Now I know I'm counting on you for anything…. From the gym, that is.”

Your awkward laugh died under his intense but amused gaze. Was he enjoying it?

“And you can talk to me, if you want too,” Bucky continued speaking as you completely surrounded him and now found yourself in the position he had been before, “not just watching me from afar.”

You were sure the blood had left your face by this time. Your level of embarrassment had gone over the edge and in that instant you didn't know how to do anything but look at him as if he had caught you in the middle of a crime. You tightened the strap of your bag while holding your breath as you noticed him moving a little closer towards you.

“It's not that it bothers me, don't go thinking that. It's just that… I'd like to get to know you a little more if that's possible.”

“Uhm…” you mumbled with a dry mouth, the reflection of the light in his blue eyes much clearer against the short distance between the two of you. You passed saliva with difficulty, shaking your head to answer him, “Yeah, sure. I'd like to know you too.”

You watched out of the corner of your eye as he nodded at your words, not making a move to get any closer. If that five-foot distance alone already felt like you were suffocating, you didn't want to imagine what it would be like to have him standing to the side or behind you explaining how to do some exercise even though you already knew how to do them all…

Shit.

“See you then, doll.”

He walked around you, walking away from that conversation and that tension like it was nothing, like a bomb hadn't just exploded in front of you. You couldn't even say anything goodbye to him, you didn't know in that instant how to move your mouth.

For a moment you felt so foolish for allowing yourself to show yourself in such a vulnerable way in front of a man… but, at the same time, so much had happened since the last time you had actively flirted with one of them (even though what you had done at that moment had been spitting words). You'd barely had a taste to remember what the adrenaline, excitement and anticipation of having a truly fun night was like… that you didn't plan on letting go.

Bucky had thrown you that rope and you were sure you were going to take it.

-

a/n: thank you for reading!! <3

[rotprincess]

Quinn Mossbacher x gn!reader

Warnings: I only watched like 3 episodes of white lotus, this will probably stray from canon because of that, probably OOC Quinn 😓, kinda mean grandma, awkward dialogue because Quinn is awkward, we will fix that perhaps. Bad punctuation. No beta we die like that mystery person in the first episode, this joke isn’t gonna age well once i actually finish the first season. No use of Y/N

Summary/Prologue?: Spending vacation with your grandma was a nice way to relax without having to deal with your family or responsibilities. It also allowed you to enjoy a little freedom, and flirt with random people you thought were cute because, well, you’re at White Lotus hotel! You can let yourself go and do embarrassing things and be awkward because you won’t see anyone at that hotel ever again… but what if that’s a bad thing? What if you mess up so bad and accidentally fall in love with a socially awkward boy who you’ll never see again?

Sending this out into the void and hoping for the best, might continue if this is well received

Word count: 1k+

—-

It wasn’t nice to stare, but it was a teeny bit nice when it was a cute boy looking at you… kinda. Suddenly your limbs get ridged and now you have to over analyze and calculate your next move in order to make sure you don’t scare away a future fling. Now noticing how uncomfortable your swimsuit felt, as it clung to your body like a fresh bandaid. You bit your lip, turning your head to look back. There he was, the cute redheaded boy who probably had terrible manners due to his poor upbringing, well not poor as in broke considering he’s spending vacation in Hawaii, but it was still a little endearing the way he openly ogled your frame. You flashed him a small practiced smile, taking notice the way his jaw slackened a bit. The ego boost was much appreciated.

You went over to grab your bag laying on the sand, still feeling his piercing blue eyes on your lower back. You would have liked to stay for a little while to continue snorkeling but your grandma said she wanted to have lunch together. After opening your bag you grabbed and dried yourself off with a towel, taking a small glance at the boy. To your dismay, he wasn’t looking at you anymore, too preoccupied with his dad. A part of you hoped you’d see more of him, but the hotel’s too big and your grandma’s probably going to drag you to the hot yoga and massage place because you’re “too tense”.

You might have been too obvious with your subtle long glances as both him and his dad turn to look at you. Your eyes widen, heat rising to your cheeks as you rush to leave the shore. Great, now you made a fool of yourself. You wouldn’t see him ever again so it’s fine right?

Loud incorrect buzzer.

So stupid to assume you wouldn’t cross paths again. You went over to this nice open buffet, tried to enjoy it, but they sat directly across from you and your grandma. The place was packed so you couldn’t even ask your grandma to sit somewhere else to get a better view of the ocean. Thankfully you didn’t make the mistake of telling your grandma what had happened, she would have been nudging you and making comments about them a bit too loud to be considered appropriate. You ate too fast, throat feeling rough from the amount of food you scarfed down. You attempted to avoid small talk with your grandma in order to leave faster but she was insistent on sitting down and enjoying her long awaited meal.

You rested your head in your palm, you would have learned by now not to stare but he was just too cute not to look at. You locked eyes for what seems like the 100th time today and smiled, building up enough confidence to send a small wave his way. He nodded his head in acknowledgment, his mouth slightly ajar. Your smile turned awkward, cringing internally at yourself as you tried to place your focus somewhere else. Your eyes darted across the room, going from admiring the plants to the lights to the paintings till you ran out of things to look at and finally laid your eyes back onto the boy. He was busying himself with his phone as his dad rambled on about something, you were too far away to hear, at some point he gestured towards you, then it hit you, they were talking about you. By then your grandma got up to leave, making you rush to pick up her bag. The quicker you left the better.

—

You spent the rest of your day tossing and turning in your bed, flicking through channels on the tv till you landed on an animal documentary. Your grandma was nice enough to get you your own separate hotel room just across from her’s. She said she “respected your privacy” but it was probably so she could pretend she was vacationing by herself. As the sun started to set you turned off the tv and stared out the window; watching as the sky turned from beautiful shades of orange and pink, to dark blues and purples. You tried to enjoy the scenery as you slowly felt yourself drift off to sleep, but you heard a loud slam a few doors down, startling you enough to the point where your heavy lidded eyes flew open.

You dragged a hand over your eyes, trying to rub the tiredness away. You put on some sandals and walked out onto the shore; it was empty, the umbrellas and white lounge chairs having been stored away. You sat down, close enough to the ocean for it to brush small waves over your feet. You wished you could fall asleep right now, but you didn’t feel like getting mistaken for a weird homeless person who washed up on shore. You stretched your arms out, feeling the light breeze on your skin. The sound of rough footsteps caught your attention, you turned and saw the boy from earlier sitting down on one of the only lounge chairs on the beach. He was covered in a thick white blanket and had his electronics laid out on the sand, you cringed at the thought of them getting washed away. Suddenly you heard a whale, and saw its tail splashing in the water.

You looked back at the boy; you wanted to save his electronics before any serious damage was done. You got up and made your way towards him. “Beautiful whale right?” You asked, stopping a few feet away from him. He let out a sound of approval, nodding his head. “So.. what are you doing out here so late? If you don’t mind me asking?”

The boy shrugged, “I‘m gonna sleep here.”

“Why?”

“Cause.. my sister and her friend kicked me out.”

“Oh..”

Your eyes dropped to look at his electronics, taking notice of the Nintendo Switch and tablet on the floor. “You not scared of your stuff getting washed away? The waves reach pretty high… I’ve seen it.”

He shrugged yet again. You fidgeted with your hands, you wanted to ask something but you were afraid of it being too forward; but then again, you wouldn’t see him ever after this vacation, so it wouldn’t hurt to try.

“Do you uhm.. do you wanna sleep in my room? I got space.” You watched as his face scrunched up, yup you definitely were too forward. “Aren’t you staying with your— grandma?” Your lips pursed and you shook your head, “No, I have my own room.” Before you forgot, you told him your name. He nodded, and a few minutes of staring passed before he got the memo. “I’m Quinn.”

You nodded, crossing your arms. “Lovely name, so are you gonna take me up on the offer or are you gonna let your stuff get washed away?” You said with a tilt of your head. You watched as his eyebrows furrowed, looking down at his stuff, then to the water, and back down to his stuff. You could see the gears turning in his head as he looked you up and down and let out a sigh. “Okay…”

“Great! Your phone’s gonna thank me later. You need to charge anything? I got some spare cables?” You said, squatting down to help him grab his stuff.

“Uhh not right now.”

You nodded your head, and grabbed his hand, not missing the way his arm tensed up before relaxing in your hold.

—

Woah big mama, hope yall like… switch the stones for tomatoes pls. Like comment and subscribe for more bangers!!!!

[realbeefman]

Do you have any good house fic recs? I am Struggling with my search.

for sure! although Disclaimer, i havent been reading house fanfic for very long and ive pretty much only read house/wilson so far, SO this is more of a hilson fic rec list than anything lol

Warning Signs by out_there - oneshot, 12k words, Wilson-POV, set around the end of s3. SUCH A GOOD FIC i laughed so much while reading this. genuinely delightful. possibly my fav house fic i’ve ever had the pleasure of reading.

The Line of Thought by tevinterimperium - oneshot, 12k, Wilson-POV, set after s3 e15. THEEE classic fake-dating AU. this was the first fic i read in this fandom and it absolutely fucks. im a SAP i love a good “no homo but OH GOD THE FEELINGS” plot!!

Desert Mesa Motel - 8 miles outside of Kingman, Arizona - 12:03 AM by plorp - ficlet, 1k, House-POV, post-canon. this makes me BAWL. very very good fic but SAD. and DEPRESSING. will make you CRY/pos

How Not To Be Boring by fourleggedfish - incomplete/abandoned, 497k, Wilson-POV, AU from around mid-s5. if u like whump (which i absolutely do) u will probably like this fic. if u are squicked out by sex, u will hate it bc these guys bang 24/7. this fic had me pacing, glued to my phone, sick to my stomach, crying (several times), and obliterated my sleep schedule. i can’t rec it highly enough. every chapters includes appropriate content warnings, but some major themes that appear throughout are character death (not of main characters), the aftermath of severe child abuse, and mental illness. if any of these topics are a trigger for you, please don’t read this work.

Forsake Me Here by MonsterBoyf - complete, 8k, Wilson-POV, ambiguous setting. Wilson has intrusive thoughts about mutilating House. He tries to cope. features a lot of very graphic imagery and does an excellent but extremely accurate job of portraying an OCD-spiral that could be triggering to people. i LOVE this fic i think about it so so much.

An Inconvenient Truth by anathaema - complete, 15k, House-POV, ambiguous setting. contains the quote “You’re the suicide bomber of revelations” and is one of the funniest things i’ve ever read. plus the way in which wilson’s sexuality in this fic is handled is honestly so realistic and entertaining. HIGHLY recc this to absolutely everyone who enjoys hilson

the more it took away by scribespirare - oneshot, 10k, House-POV, ambiguous setting. Omega!House has his first heat since presenting. Alpha!Wilson helps him through it. I LOVE OMEGAVERSE AND I LOVE FUCK OR DIE AND I LOVE THE WAY THIS FIC HANDLES THIS IS JUST GRAHHHH. If u don’t enjoy omegaverse u won’t like this but i can’t make a house fic rec list and NOT include this one

Aftershocks by black_cigarette - series, around 125k in total, various POV’s, set sometime post-Tritter arc. this fic IS gen, but honestly, i didn’t know that going in and didn’t realize it wasn’t a slash fic until the very end. tldr is that wilson is brutally assaulted because house has been gambling with some unsavory people, and house helps him deal with the aftermath. this fic does not pull punches. its is extremely graphic and everything wilson goes through is described in detail. it is a messy story about recovering from brutal trauma and everything that entails. DISCLAIMER: there are sequel(s) to this series available on the author’s livejournal, but i haven’t read them and can’t speak to anything they discuss.

no need to worry (making up your mind) by scribespirare - complete, 25k, House-POV, set sometime in the early seasons. House lies about having a Jewish boyfriend to get out of visiting his mother at Christmas. Things quickly get out of hand. THIS FIC IS SOOO *tears into it with my teeth*. I love when they scheme together <3